I was passing by the Art College, and a lecturer approached me asking me if I could volunteer some time.

He gave me a child's sweater, a colourful little thing, and some cloth-cutting shears, and asked me to cut up the jumper. Any size and shape I liked.

So I did as he asked, and I cut the thing up in long strips. I was still as it when the lecturer came back.

"Actually," he said, "I want to see your reaction."

"To what?" I asked him.

"What if I told you that that sweater had come off a Syrian refugee boy ... who'd died in transit, blind, separated from his parents?"

I have been feeling teary all bloody day. If that lecturer turns up in another dream, I an going to kick his arse so hard ...

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